


Edelweiss

by this_dragon_hates_sox



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: Angst, Despair, Dystopia, M/M, Semi- AU, Shameless Smut, Smut, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_dragon_hates_sox/pseuds/this_dragon_hates_sox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin is waiting for the man he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edelweiss

The clouds were low, wet and refreshing, hugging the mountains and creating an image of deceptive peace. The fog descended like a benevolent veil to hide the ugliness as it evaporated into its white embrace. It did well hiding the dissolving bodies of the enemies, their elusive flesh melting in the mist. Flesh that was created by something people didn't understand. It was easier that way. Every one could just close their eyes and pretend that their helplessness was not a choice, but the lack of one. And even though the fog could hide it all from sight, it could hide their vanishing corpses and the human stench, and the denial, and the painful lack of hope, there was one thing it couldn't hide. The smell of war. Nothing could cover the smell of war, it was always in the air, heavy and suffocating. One could smell war wherever one went. 

And they appeared with the fog. Green hooded figures on horses, creeping up the hill, causing hearts to stop and blood to freeze. Saviours from Hell itself. If there was a place called Hell. If it wasn't here. 

He could smell war within the safe walls of his house. He was about to be touched by it too. He was often touched by war even though he had been rejected by the military. Those who fought for humanity, who aim to set it free, their life was a constant battle and sometimes they did win and when they did it was an amazing triumph. But then, the enemy always came back. Always. There seemed to be no end and some were already convinced that there will be no end.

His house on top of the hill was lonely and at first glance, it was just like any other house. But it wasn't. It had the symbol of the edelweiss above its entrance. That was the symbol which invited the saviours to approach, to enter and to feel at home. 

The saviours, the soldiers, humanity's only hope.

He had an obligation to his saviours, who kept his village intact and somehow managed to repel the enemy every time. He was there to serve them. Every time they would pass by his house, they would see the sign above the door and they would know that they were welcome there. That was his purpose.

When he was younger, following his best friend he tried to join the military but was deemed too weak. He had great intellectual potential, but his physical strength simply wasn't enough. So this was his way of contributing, he felt like he was helping some how even though he was too weak to actually fight. However, this was only part of the reason. 

He was there to offer his hospitality to the army men. In his home, which was also theirs, by law, they would take a deserved rest, replenish their thirst and satisfy their hunger. Armin's home was theirs and so were his possessions, and his body. Every single thing of his was open to them. 

Naturally, they had to be thanked for what they did. Without them, the world would sink even further into despair. They were tired, poor souls, lonely and tormented. Every one was completely capable of realising how difficult it was to slice mindless flesh all the time, all for the sake of those who were not strong enough to fight themselves. They deserved all the gratitude in the world and they weren't ashamed to point that out if they had to. 

Armin sat down in silence, the only prominent sound the beating of his heart. He felt that this time something would be different. His ears could already register the distant sound of horses. For a second he doubted his own hearing, he felt unreasonably anxious and he thought that maybe, the things he was hearing were not even real. And a bit of this doubt was coated with a tiny layer of hope and inside there was a little hole through which fear managed to sneak in. 

He closed the window and tried to calm his troubled heart at least a little. His lonely house on top of the hill was too tempting. Too exposed. Even if they somehow missed the sign above the door, they were unlikely to just pass by, they never did. It didn't look abandoned either. All the items piled up in front were bound to attract their attention immediately. It was a large house, one too big for a single boy. There was no chance that they would choose to continue after seeing this blessing of a welcoming home in the middle of a dark nowhere, still bearing the marks of the recent battle. And all the battles before it. 

He had done this a million times, maybe more, but his heart was pounding in an unusual way. It wasn't fear, shame or worry and it most definitely wasn't regret, it was just an unknown anxiety that had taken him by surprise. He didn't expect any thing any more, but there was still a tiny flicker of hope buried somewhere deep within his tortured being. He held on to that hope. 

He listened carefully. There weren't many of them, he was sure. He could hear only a few horses, no more than five. The horses stopped and the men discussed something briefly. From what reached his ears after that, he could make out that some of them rode away. He concentrated in an effort to determine whether all of them had left. At least two remained, he could hear them talking. They raised their voices a bit, but he still didn't manage to work out what they were saying. His ears were somewhat humming. It was the unforeseen fear that impaired his senses and he still wasn't able to understand why he felt like that. 

The familiar sound of the door opening made his heart jump. It almost felt like he would throw it all up, his heart along with all the organs around it. Why not, he thought, at least that would end it all. Then his head felt heavy and tight, and screamed. He remembered the dream, the goal that he had been following through all these years and it pained him to realise that he was about to let go of those, for reasons unexplained. Yet.  
He quickly crawled under the table, a useless attempt at something he didn't even really want to do. He just did it. 

The man walked in. No need to knock, no need to announce one's arrival when one was arriving at his own home. 

'Come out, come out, wherever you are.', he hummed.

His heavy steps came in dull thuds as his armoured boots collided with the wooden floor. He stopped and leaned forward, then quickly popped his head under the table.

'Ah!', he exclaimed in a joyful manner. 'There you are!'

A broad victorious smile decorated his longish face. It wasn't in any way ugly, the man was rather attractive. Even his angry, narrow eyes were considerably pretty. 

'You can come out now.', he spoke as if he was addressing a very young child or an animal. 'They are gone now. We've slaughtered them all. Do you have a name? If you don't, I'll give you one.'

'It's... It's Armin.', the boy almost whimpered and pulled his knees closer to his chest.

'Armin. Hello, Armin.', the smile vanished like a blown out candle. 'Now. Come out. Or I will drag you out.' 

He brought his lips together and mimicked wetly kissing the air while Armin was crawling out from under the table. 

'That's a good boy.', his eyes traced Armin from head to toe.

He reached out and caressed his face with the back of his right hand. 

'Armin.', he whispered, his gaze distant as if dimmed by intoxication. 'Beautiful little Armin. I can't wait to make love to you...'

'Jean!', the voice from the entrance broke the silence and to Armin it was a desperate flicker of hope. He gasped and nervously turned to greet the newcomer with a slightly more cheerful face. It was still pulled apart by fear, but the man who had entered seemed more pleasant than the one called Jean. At least at first glance he did, because Armin was desperate to see him as the one who would save him. But as he came into the light, Armin's heart stopped inside his chest. What he had mistaken for hope was in fact a rusty blade, which would slowly remove his skin from his muscles and then his muscles from his bones. Until he was left in a shapeless pile of meat with a living heart buried somewhere in the middle. Because, it was his heart that kept him alive and didn't allow him to forget the pain. 

'Look, Eren. Look what I've found. We are staying here tonight.' 

Eren gave Armin a fleeting look. 

'But the village is just...', he began just to be abruptly cut off by Jean.

'No!', he shouted so loud it made Armin's chest tighten even more.

He slouched uncomfortably as if he had been struck. 

'I want to stay here.', Jean finished in a much milder voice as he looked at Armin again, his eyes less and less human.

Armin's legs felt weak. His fingers were trembling as he was trying to convince himself that all was going to be fine. He did fear, yes. He had tried to save himself in a ridiculous way, by hiding under the table. And he knew why he had done it. He had dealt with all this before, he'd had worse. He'd had many men entering his house, men much more repulsive and frightening than this one. 

'Eren, attend to the horses while Armin here makes some food for us.' 

Armin didn't move, he just kept staring at Jean's face without actually seeing him. 

'Well don't just stand there!', Jean looked around as if he was considering something. 'And bring us some ale. I am thirsty.'

'I-I don't drink.', Armin stuttered in a tiny voice, forcing his ghostly white face into the best expression he had. 

Jean's evident dissatisfaction made him wonder why he kept doing this, why couldn't he just obey. 

'What was that? You think I'm stupid? What of all the barrels outside? Go get a jug and fill it up with whatever. NOW! Don't make me beautify that childish face of yours with something that won't wash off.'

Armin's eyes watered as he went to find a jug. He cursed himself over and over as his shaky fingers were looking for the vessel.

He then saw Jean inspecting his bookshelf. 

'So many books. And so old. You could make a fortune in the capital selling those. Too bad you can't.', he sniggered. 'I would get rid of those if I were you.' 

He paused.

'Well don't dawdle! Go bring that fucking ale! If you're not back within a minute, I will break your legs. Apparently, they are rather useless any way!'

Armin didn't need any more motivation to quickly run to the nearest barrel and do what was demanded of him. But he didn't want to go out, the other one was there.

Jean took his cloak off and tossed it over a chair.

'Ungrateful vermin. Why are we even doing all this for you.', he said to himself.

Armin left the room and walked out with a throbbing heart, trying his best to avoid the other man, but constantly being painfully aware of his presence as he struggled not to spill the precious liquid he was supposed to bring to Jean.

When he came back, Jean had made himself comfortable. Armin placed the jug and a cup on the table for him and proceeded to get some food as commanded. While he was slicing the bread he almost chopped his finger off. He felt almost sick, this wasn't happening. His thoughts were a mess, a slush of disbelief mixed with broken dreams was being stirred inside his head and he was fighting to keep his sanity. Was that really Eren? Was that really the Eren he knew? Why was he so cold, why did he dismiss Armin's presence completely? Why had he just turned and walked away whilst knowing perfectly well what Jean was about to do? It wasn't him. Armin shook his head frantically. It couldn't be him.

Armin had devoted himself to the Edelweiss because of Eren. He didn't care about mankind or the war any more, those were things that he had realised he was too weak for. He wouldn't be able to make a difference, no matter what he did. Even a strong soldier with an amazing kill record was highly unlikely to make a difference. For years and years, Armin had questioned himself. He had despised himself for having become a whore to a cause he didn't even honestly believe in. And he had comforted himself in a simple way. It was all for Eren. Because one day, Eren would come back and make him happy.

Armin's heart was Eren's. They were never more than best friends, they never touched or kissed. But Armin always knew that Eren was the love of his life. Not that he even believed in love or liked using the word since so many people used it without even knowing its true nature or meaning, or if it existed at all. But Eren, or rather, thinking of Eren and remembering him was the air he used to breathe. He was suffocating. 

He slowly put the food in front of Jean fearful more than ever that his weak fingers would fail him or that a tear would drop in it. He didn't want to imagine what might follow if something like that was to happen. Then he just stepped back and lowered his head.

'Mh, not bad. Not bad.', Jean commented as he helped himself to the food in the most uncivilised of ways.

Armin just wanted to slide backwards to the shadows of the corridor and disappear into them like smoke, but Jean's glare pinned him motionless like a butterfly in a collection. He threw a piece of meat back to the plate and licked his fingers.

'Take off your shirt.' 

Armin could only move his colourless wings in agony while the needle which held him in place was causing his entire body to ache, but was refusing to end it for him, like it was making fun of his pathetic existence. For he felt utterly pathetic in that moment. He wasn't even a butterfly. He was a moth. A small, tattered moth which was so insignificant that even Eren had forgotten about it. 

He slowly started to unbutton his flimsy shirt, lingering at every button. Jean kept on munching for a minute as he observed, but his impatience made him grab Armin's hand and pull him so he slightly bent over in a comfortable position for him to slap his face before he rose. As he did, he ripped the shirt off his shoulders and grabbed his ear, twisting it roughly and accompanying that with a second slap, harder this time, drawing blood from Armin's nostrils.

'Are you playing with me, you little slut.', he growled. 'You think I'd wait for you all night?!'

Armin was petrified and breathing like a cornered rabbit. Jean could feel his terrified heartbeat and it made the beast within blaze with lust even more. 

He slammed his face against the table and kicked his legs apart. He felt like a scaly mythological creature against Armin's back, his paralysing venom held him in place. Utter despair ripped through Armin's chest as he whimpered in a broken voice. Before he knew it, the creature's manhood was already trying to invade his depths. But the unprepared flesh refused to yield.

Jean felt extremely enraged. He growled and thrust forward as hard as he could without causing himself too much pain, but he still didn't manage to go past the tight entrance. 

'Damn you!', he grunted. 'Let me in! Damn you!!'

He landed a furious punch in the back of Armin's neck, almost knocking him unconscious. Unfortunately, Armin wasn't that lucky. He remained wide awake with every sense in his body even sharper than usual. Every sensation felt like a tight string, which was almost about to snap, but never did. 

Infuriated almost to the brink of madness, Jean moved away from him. He kicked the nearest cupboard before lifting a chair and smashing it in the floor. He took one leg from it and lifted Armin's head by his hair, pulling his face close to his own, breathing fiery rage right into it.

'I bet this will go in.', Jean said as he presented the chair leg for Armin to see.

Armin fidgeted and his eyes twitched with terror, overflowing once again. The tips of Jean's fingers digging in his throat rendered him unable to move.

'P-please.', he choked. 'That... that'll kill me.'

Without a way out, in the steel grasp of the devil himself, Armin had no idea what to do, so he put a smile on his despair. It was a weary, sad smile, but it was all he had. It was his last speck of hope.

'You said... you said you wouldn't hurt me. You said you just wanted to make love to me. This thing will hurt me...', he stopped to take in a sharp breath. 'Please... just... make love to me...'

Jean had began to calm down like a crazed lion under the lullaby of an experienced tamer. The incinerating blaze in his eyes subsided and turned into an almost mellow, warm flame. He dropped the chair leg and lifted his hand towards Armin's face as the grip of his other hand loosened and just remained there to support rather than restrain. Armin instinctively shut his eyes, expecting to receive a slap. Instead, he felt his face being wiped clean of tears and then gentle fingers going around his temples in circles, caring and soothing like those of a concerned lover. And Armin slowly opened his tortured eyes, still red and frightened, but slightly calmer. And he met a face, which would also fit a caring lover. 

Jean looked so tame now. For a second a thought flashed across Armin's mind. He thought that maybe he would be able to kick Jean and break free. But the risk was too high, Jean was stronger and his fury was truly devastating. So Armin decided to continue the game he had started. Repulsive as it was, the alternative was no different, but it was bound to be violent and maybe even fatal to him. He felt like a coward but he managed to convince himself, in less than a second, that it was not fear that had made him do all this, it was common sense. 

He wrapped his arms around Jean's neck. He still wasn't sure that he would make it and that this way it would be safer for him. Maybe Jean would thrash him again any way, maybe he simply enjoyed rape and violence. To Armin, it was going to be rape any way, but at least, Jean smiled. Armin wasn't wrong after all, he had felt the good in him and he had managed to bring it out. No one had ever smiled at him like this. The madness was still there in his eyes, but it was softer. Somehow Armin knew that it would hurt less.

It didn't have to be terrible, Armin thought all of a sudden. All he had to do was smile and be nice. In the past when he offered his body to other men, he never thought of Eren to comfort himself, because he never thought that Eren could be rough and nasty like those men. But now it was different. Now he knew that probably Eren was going to be exactly as rough and even nastier.

He shut his eyes. Shapes were dancing before them, smoke was rising. He could feel his teeth sinking in his lower lip and he pressed harder, but he didn't manage to pierce it. He needed a distraction, but that wasn't enough. 

Jean was a young, fit man. He was quite agreeable. But his hands felt like tentacles sliding up and down Armin's skin. Every time his skin came in to contact with Jean's he felt a slimy trace being left behind. 

Jean was taken over by lust. He went up to kiss Armin's lips. His tongue parted them and explored the inside of Armin's mouth with clumsy eagerness. A slimy monster was crawling inside his mouth and Armin opened wide to let it. He kissed back letting his own tongue join in Jean's frantic dance. Shameful as it was, Armin felt the heat rising between his legs and his erection awaking. It was only this much he needed. How easy he was. And he was genuinely repulsed. Jean didn't feel as nasty as all those animal-like men he had been forced to submit to, but the image that was plastered before Armin's eyes and refused to fade away made it all as disgusting as possible. It was Eren. The Eren that hadn't recognised him. That Eren, the stranger, who stood in the doorway and did nothing, and said nothing. 

Back then, whenever Armin felt alone or sad, he would think of Eren and that would be his remedy. As disgusting pigs were taking advantage of his body, he would imagine Eren's smile. His big green eyes would sparkle in the greyness, eager to explore the outside world. Eager to do it with Armin. Eren was his cure, he would see Eren and feel Eren, and Eren would be gentle and nice, and sweet. That Eren, the one that didn't exist, would tell him not to fear and to wait a bit longer, just a bit longer. A promise was made all those years ago and Armin lived for that promise, he kept it within his heart, waiting for the day to come when it will become real. 

Now he wanted to remove Eren from himself. He wanted to destroy the memory of him, to claw it out of his skin and never look at it again.

 

'Use this.', Armin handed the small vial to Jean. 'It will work this way.'

The heat in Jean's eyes made the entire room seem like it was on fire. And it felt that way too. 

'You do it.', he said.

Armin's pale form in front of him was intoxicating. His desire could be felt in every inch of his body, but he didn't want to be aggressive. He wanted to devour Armin, but he was waiting patiently. Because Armin held him in place, he had put a spell on him, like a lewd demon. He thought about it then, through the haze of his lust-blinded head, that young boy looked scary. His face was scary, it was nothing like the innocent, tear-covered one he had earlier. His eyes, darkened by his own desire were also filled with pure madness. For a few seconds, Jean became oblivious of the entire situation and a silent echo of a doubt crawled through him. Not enough to make him reconsider and leave Armin alone, but he felt it. Armin's oily fingers on his cock made him return to the moment. 

'Ah!', he groaned, remembering how eager he was.

Armin stroke his length, neatly spreading the oil over it, making sure it was well slippery. 

He was enjoying it, he had forgotten how much, but now he remembered. 

He spread himself with his fingers. He did it violently, despising himself, wanting to rip his own body apart from the inside. If Eren was to have him as well, his body had to be filthy for him, used and defiled. He wanted to convince himself how dirty and nasty he was, how Eren was not going to touch any thing pure and how he would drown in that sinful pool of flesh which had been used by countless men. And Armin had enjoyed every bit of it. That is what he was trying to do, he planted that idea in his head and sank his claws into it. And so, it became real.

Jean arranged the view by pulling Armin's legs apart and lifting the right one pressing the knee against Armin's chest. He approved of Armin's flexibility with a smirk. He breathed heavily while he observed. 

'Stop now.', he commanded.

Armin slowly pulled his fingers out of his slicked up, rosy hole, letting it gape a bit for Jean's viewing pleasure. It was still rather tight, but the delicious ring of muscle that was on display did its job almost driving Jean over the edge once again. He took his cock in his hand and pumped it. He lifted Armin's other leg to and brought his thighs together a bit, enjoying the way his pink balls got squeezed between them. Then he spread them again and moved forward. The demanding need to bury himself inside the boy was hard to bear, but he still wanted to play a bit more. 

He entered Armin with his own long fingers, from what Armin could feel, there were at least three. Armin moaned slightly and lifted one leg a bit more to give the other man more access. Involuntarily, he was demonstrating what a whore he was.

'Still so tight.', Jean breathed. 'How many have been in there?'

Armin groaned at the sensation of Jean's fingers scissoring inside him, stretching his flesh. He loved it and it was evident in every motion and every sound he made. 

'Many...', he managed to hiss. 'Too many...'

He looked up and met Jean's gaze for a brief second, before grabbing his wrist and applying pressure to it, making Jean's hand sink deeper inside him.

Jean felt the urge to comment, but his own head was already too hazy for that. He felt like he might spill himself without notice and he didn't want that to happen, so he abruptly pulled his hand out much to Armin's dismay. 

'No.', Jean said, clearly to himself. 'I don't have time for this.'

Whether the lubrication was enough, he didn't know. He didn't care either. And by the looks of it, Armin didn't mind.

Jean penetrated almost with ease. There still was some pressure he had to defy and the stubbornly shut entrance caused some minor discomfort to him, but he was feeling much more relaxed than the first time he had attempted and his mind was surprisingly clear for the lust-driven state he was in. Free of anger, he could still control himself. He didn't know if he felt some sort of strange compassion or it was just for the sake of his own pleasure, but he didn't want to damage Armin. He usually tried not to damage any of the boys he had. Not influenced by the serious outburst he had had earlier, he was able to retain a certain degree of sanity and he knew that a damaged, ripped hole didn't feel as good and even though he had never really considered it properly, it was burned in his mind that he did it only because of this. His pride was, as usually, the one dictating the rules.

 

Whether it was the strain of the position his body was in or something else, Armin's sore nose started to bleed again. He indulged. He wanted to lick some, but it was going down his cheek and away from his mouth. He rubbed it against the greyish bed sheet, leaving a mark, a reminder for later. A greeting for Eren. 

Jean's thrusts were getting more and more brutal, painfully hitting his depths and slightly brushing across that one spot, but quickly losing it. Armin's toes curled. He wanted the pain and he wanted the pleasure. He wanted it all. He didn't care about Eren or about the illusions he tried to create. The real sensations were good enough to silence and blind his mind. He simply turned blind and numb to all other things. The only feeling that remained and was real was the stabbing force inside of him. 

His nails dug into Jean's back. Despair was a drug. Jean's every thrust brought along a mighty wave of unknown pleasure. It was pain. Real, excruciating pain. 

It was a sword of fire. It plunged right through his soul. It was more than just flesh connected to flesh, it didn't have much to do with that. Flesh was just a bridge, a medium. It transmitted pain and pleasure, but didn't create it. It was always there and flesh served as a messenger. 

More, his mind screamed, more. More pain, more pleasure. He wanted all memory of Eren to be wiped away from within him. He wanted Eren to be scrubbed out of his flesh, even though he had never really been there. Jean's powerful assault was cleansing, with every thrust he stripped a layer of unrealistic memories, those that Armin had created on his own when he had thought of Eren. He hoped that he would bleed, because then, the blood would wash out Eren and make way for a new longing, one unconnected to their distant impossible dreams that had burdened Armin for so long. He realised then, his existence had been meaningless up till now. He was pointless without Eren and the dream they once used to share. He was nothing. He was as good as a mindless lump of flesh. 

And then he sank into a silent darkness where all feeling was gone. His body didn't ache, the tiny discomfort from earlier was nothing he hadn't endured before, he paid no mind to it. He didn't hope for physical pain any more. Once he had stopped thinking, his instincts had withdrawn and he had reduced himself to a ball of sensation, all he wanted was pain. Brutal men with strong, merciless hands, pressing him down, ravishing him without consideration, strangling him, hitting him, it wasn't enough. He had stopped feeling that a long time ago. Or at least, it failed to create the desired effect. 

Jean moaned loudly as he allowed himself to kiss Armin's lips, the thirst he had been suppressing for some time quite evident in that kiss. He thrust harder and harder, almost whimpering as he did so, tightening his grip around Armin's frail body, making his ribs crack.

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, Armin's ability to feel was given back to him. Amplified. His orgasm burst through him. His sin started oozing out of his penis and the muscles of his stomach started convulsing. It was not an overstatement, walls were tumbling down before his sealed eyes, green capes were on fire at an abandoned battlefield, life and death were dancing, stabbing each other like fierce lovers, biting each other for dominance, just like he bit deep into Jean's shoulder, astonished by the force of his own jaws as he tasted the blood, not his own this time. For the first time, not his own. 

Jean let out a choked groan, his fingers dug into the old mattress as his shoulder instinctively moved in response to the teeth that sank in it. A sequence of ridiculous sounds followed and he reached his peak, flooding the boy's insides with hot semen. He wasn't supposed to do that, but he didn't pull out immediately. He was aware of the situation, but he just didn't bother. A tiny thought about the possible unpleasant consequences managed to run through his mind, but he still didn't take his cock out until it inevitably grew too soft and tired and slipped out on its own.

Jean pressed his forehead against Armin's collarbone, right in the middle. And there, he could already feel Armin's heart throbbing painfully in his head. The way it felt like they were almost connected through more than just the obvious was eerie. It deeply troubled Jean. In moments like this, he usually experienced a surge of hidden emotions he kept locked away and safe under his mask of arrogance. He let them flow freely and swam in them, and then shot them out along with his seed and forgot about them, until the next time. But Jean felt something which had always lurked in the shadows of his silenced mind. Regret. The bitter, unforgiving regret of never managing to be what he had set out to be. And furious, burning hatred. For the world, for its people and for life. 

He kissed Armin's lips once more. Their softness and sweet, pure taste created a deep contrast with Armin's broken image and state of mind. The kiss itself was completely unfitting. The filthy intercourse that had taken place was not one to be concluded with a kiss, no matter how passionate or dirty itself. But Jean wanted that kiss. And so did Armin. It was more than just a kiss, it was a cure, a bandage placed around a wounded limb, useless but an effort nevertheless. A bond to keep a thing together and help it continue to exist, no matter how reluctant it was. 

Through all his conflicted feelings, Jean learned that he wasn't able to let go of his present existence and probably would never be given the chance to do so. He was rolling down a one way road to no where. A road that lead to a dark, desolate place, a place even sadder than the fading remains of humanity. There was no glory there and no victory. It struck him then like it never had before. The truth was before his eyes, but he never managed to see it. He simply didn't want to look at it. It was despair. 

Armin turned his head to the side. With Jean still resting on his chest, breathing heavily and temporarily absent from the world, he could shut his eyes and cry. But the tears didn't come. Normally, he would cry like a baby. And feel sick, incredibly sick. But now, he was already too sullied, too filthy for that. He was unable to produce tears and was not feeling the necessity to throw up, because the vomit that had gathered within him was not to be disposed of, there was no need, it was already a part of him that didn't require that much attention. It was his own venom that had poisoned him and he was immune to all the rest. 

His eyes closed. It was still there. Eren was still there. 

Armin finally got up and headed to the bathroom. His own thoughts seemed unfamiliar to him. He was totally disconnected. His body was moving like it was wind-up and there was no brain controlling it. He poured some cold water over himself, lazily scrubbing his upper body here and there. He felt the water run down his stomach and his back, and between his legs and further down. He reached for his behind and caressed his right buttock before slipping his hand in the middle and a finger inside himself. Jean's sperm was still there. Armin added a second finger and pushed as deep as he could. A third one was quick to join and there he was- fucking himself with his hand, shamelessly rubbing the fertile semen into the raw meat of his insides. He was supposed to be cleaning himself from it, but doing the exact opposite didn't seem to make him feel any shame. He liked it a little too much. He placed his head against the wooden pillar and continued slamming his hand up his arse. Four fingers and then five, and then a hand, forming a half-fist was shoved up his bum and he was losing his mind, trying to fist himself as hard and as deep as he could manage with his own hand. His cock was semi-hard and he roughly rubbed it against the wood. He sank down to his knees and then on all fours, face down on the damp floor. He required the use of his right hand for a few seconds so he pulled it out of himself and spread his legs to feel the blissful coolish air against his brutalised opening. Then he continued fisting it until he ejaculated properly even without touching his cock too much. 

He stayed there for a while, kneeling on the floor and thinking about Jean. It was unusual. He wondered if they would ever meet again after he had gone. He wondered if Jean would remember him, his face, his voice, his body even. Was it possible for his tiny existence to make a difference to any one. He was worse than a bird that had lost its wings, because he had never had wings. He could throw his head back desperately and force himself to grow a pair, but nothing would happen. Nothing ever did. 

Jean was most likely asleep. Armin took his time. He finally washed himself and slowly headed to the the back yard where the horses were resting.

The young soldier was sitting on a barrel and playing with a piece of wood and a knife. He wasn't really whittling it into any shape, he was just moving his knife over it while his mind was lost somewhere else. His swords were on the ground next to him, perfectly polished, their presence a medal of honour itself. Armin eyed them with disgust. He was terrified by those blades, for a long time they had been slicing his soul into tiny thin pieces, scattering them around and picking them up again just to stitch it back together so that he could experience it over and over again. It was like resurrecting a dead person just to torture him. And that night he felt it in a way he never had before. He never thought that he could feel pain the way he felt it then . 

Eren looked at him, this time for a bit longer, because he noticed he was wearing the long shirt in which he slept and there was a bit of water dripping down his bare legs. He was quick to overt his eyes as he was not willing to show too much interest, but it evidently stirred something up within him. He went back to his pointless whittling as Armin slowly approached him.

'Hello, Eren.', he spoke in a dead voice.

Eren lifted his eyes and nodded.

'Hello.'

'I thought you didn't recognise me when you first walked in.'

Eren dug a deep cut in the wood before finally discarding it. He put the knife back in his travel pouch. 

'Of course I did.'

Armin didn't feel anything. It was better this way. His heart was tired of feeling, it refused to accept any more pain so it just shut it deep within itself in a black, spiked cage. Occasionally he would brush against those spikes and they would injure him, but he would ignore it and carry on, patiently waiting for what was locked inside to finally die. He was waiting for his withered heart to die. He had waited for Eren to come back and dreamed their dream for a very long time. But nothing could last for ever, especially this. So he had decided to give up and now he had all the more reason to.

'I... Your superior... Jean... He is asleep now. I think he is satisfied.', he spoke finding it hard to believe that he was saying these things to Eren, his Eren. 'I have washed myself clean. You can... have your turn if you like... Or maybe... you don't... I'm sorry...'

'Later.', Eren said firmly.

'Yes... I'll go back inside then, if you don't need me...'

He swiftly turned and walked to the house, tears stinging in his eyes. He stopped. 

'Eren? Did you manage to see the sea?'

'No. Not yet.', came the answer, a tiny note of emotion in Eren's voice.

'I see.'

Armin walked away and let the tears wet his face in silence. It was nothing, it was just a reflex. It was like rain. When it was raining, the sky wasn't crying. Because the sky didn't care.


End file.
